The Telltale Turtle (The Pet Psychic Mysteries) (5 page)

Unfortunately, he'd died two years later, when a helicopter landed on him as they were about to go to the airport. It was terrible.

"I don't have a husband," she explained, waiting for Jenny to answer. "I'm a widow."

"Oh. Sorry. I didn't mean to pry." He glanced around the room again, then eased his long, lean body into the chair by the brickedover fireplace as he continued to stroke the beagle puppy's head. "I jog past here a couple of times a week. I noticed when you moved in two years ago and opened the place. You've done a nice job."

"Thanks" She looked at the ugly green walls. "The outside looks all right, but it's been all we could do to get the equipment we need and keep the animals fed. I'm hoping to do some sprucing up on the interior this year. I couldn't have done it without all the wonderful people who've taken an interest and devoted their time and money to help the animals."

Jenny finally answered the phone and Mary Catherine told her the problem. She yawned repeatedly and promised to be there as soon as she got dressed. "Why is it an emergency always happens right after I get home? You know I wanted to see Championship wrestling tonight."

Mary Catherine apologized, thanked her, and hung up. "She's on her way. Can I get you a cup of tea? I know I need some." "

I wouldn't want to put you to any trouble."

"Not at all. I'll be right back." She went upstairs and put on some water for tea, but also threw on an ankle-length, deep purple dress, applied a little more lipstick, ran a brush through her hair again, and spritzed on a little Chanel. It might be ridiculous, but there was no point in missing any opportunities. She didn't plan to re-marry, but who knew when husband number five might come her way.

She poured the fragrant green tea into two cups, then went carefully downstairs again. Baylor had stayed with the man, watching him. He reported that he had gone behind the counter and looked at a few things. Bruno barked from the back, starting a storm of howling from the clinic's other patients.

Mary Catherine's eyes narrowed farther as she handed Charlie his tea. It was her fault for being so eager to impress him. She'd have to be more careful who she let into the clinic unsupervised. Who was he? What did he want? She wasn't worried about the clinic. Everything was clean and up to code. But he could be a reporter. They were obnoxious at times.

"Thanks." He sipped the tea, patting the beagle's head. "I knew your Aunt Sylvia, you know."

"Really?" Mary Catherine usually wasn't one to put off saying what needed to be said. But this time she wanted to know why he was really there. She hoped he hadn't hurt the dog to get in there at that hour and see her.

"Funny, she never mentioned you."

"We were out of touch for many years because of a stupid feud between her and my mother. I guess she thought of me when she died because she didn't have any other family."

He lifted one brow. "What about her son?"

That was a surprise. "I didn't know she had a son" He had to be a reporter. Too bad. He was a distinguished-looking man with his graying brown hair and chestnut eyes. Quite charming. Too charming, she agreed with Baylor who flexed his claws then sat very still, glaring at the man. She almost laughed at her attack cat.

"I think you should know I'm a private investigator. That's what I do for a living." He pulled out a business card and slid it across the table to her. "One of my clients is Sylvia Caldwell's son."

"Oh?" She sat opposite him on another lime-green vinyl chair. "Is that why you were rifling through my papers while I was upstairs? If you're here to blackmail me or something, Mr. Dowd, you might as well forget it. I have the legal documentation on this building. I'm sorry Aunt Sylvia didn't have a better relationship with her son. And if you hurt this poor dog to get in here-"

"I wouldn't do that, Mrs. Roberts" He smiled at her and sipped his tea, apparently not worried about her revelation. "But my client is interested in learning more about you. He'd like to meet to talk about buying this place back from you. For sentimental reasons."

"I'm not interested. As you know, I've put a lot of time and money into restoring this building. It suits me the way it is. I'm not selling." "

I understand. Do you really believe you're a pet psychic? Or is it an act?"

Jenny stumbled into the clinic with her princess pajama top on over her jeans, slippers on her feet. "Where's the dog?"

Together they took the puppy into the back office where he could be examined. Mary Catherine was surprised when Charlie waited for her to come back. Baylor sat on the counter watching him, waiting for an excuse to pounce. "If you're really interested in the puppy's welfare, call after ten in the morning and we should know something more about him."

"You didn't answer my question, Mrs. Roberts," he reminded her. "Do you really believe you can talk to animals?"

"How do you think I knew you rifled through my papers?" She smiled as she walked to the door and held it open for him. "Good night, Mr. Dowd."

The morning paper brought news of the police investigation into the death of Mrs. Ferndelle Jamison. "Mrs. Jamison was found in her home on Market Street by a taxi driver, Danny Ruiz and Mary Catherine Roberts, a radio talk show host," she read aloud to Tommy and Baylor. "She's survived by her nephew, Colin, whose parents were killed in a boating accident off the coast two years ago."

Baylor looked up from his breakfast and smacked his lips.

"We don't know that, do we?" She chastised the cat. "Just because you don't like him doesn't mean he killed his parents and his aunt. You take a dislike to most people when you meet them. Colin is a good man, despite his affectations."

Mary Catherine went on to read about Ferndelle's many charitable contributions to the city. Again, she was touched by the nearness of the death. Somehow it seemed so personal to her. She hadn't known Ferndelle Jamison, yet she felt intimate with her after finding her lying there in her own blood, so helpless in her nightclothes.

"I know you're hungry," she consoled the turtle. "But all I have is a little lettuce. That will have to do until I can get something else."

The funeral arrangements hadn't been announced, according to the paper. "Probably because they're going to do an autopsy on her," she told the cat. "They know something isn't right. I'm sure we're not the only ones to question it."

There was a knock on her private door and she glanced at the clock. It was too early for jenny or a volunteer to be there. For a moment, she thought it might be that nasty Charlie Dowd again. Her heart fluttered in her chest. She opened the peephole a crack. "Yes?"

Detectives Abraham and Angellus stood outside in the misty morning air. "We have a few more questions, Mrs. Roberts. Could we come in?"

Hi Mary Catherine!

Roger, my terrier, escaped from the garden one day when my son was out visiting a friend's new house three miles away. I was amazed when Roger turned up at the friend's new house. My son went there by car. There is no way he could have left a scent and Roger had never been taken to that address before.

Do you think he's psychic?

"YOU WANT TO ARREST Tommy?"

Detective Abraham frowned and looked at the turtle in the bowl on the marble kitchen counter. "We don't want to arrest it... uh ... him. We want to do forensic work on it. Him. It might have a fingerprint on it. Him. Damn!"

"You mean you want to cut the poor thing open?"

"No, Mrs. Roberts," Detective Angellus broke into the conversation. "Whoever did this didn't leave much behind to help us. We think there was a struggle between Mrs. Jamison and her assailant. We believe that assailant used the glass from the broken bowl to cut her throat. The turtle was in the glass bowl. It's possible the person who killed her might've touched the turtle. He might have a fingerprint on his back. We could take that off without hurting him at all."

They were sitting at Mary Catherine's kitchen table, a shaft of sunlight from the wide windows illuminating the scene. She poured them each a cup of the chamomile tea she'd received from that wonderful woman in Charlotte whose Great Dane had a problem with ghosts. "I don't like it."

"We can get a court order," Detective Abraham threatened. "The turtle could be an important part of this investigation, as stupid as that sounds."

"That won't be necessary," she decided, "if you'll let me be there to make sure he isn't hurt."

Abraham moaned and shook his head.

Detective Angellus shrugged. "What difference does it make?"

"I suppose it doesn't." Abraham frowned at Mary Catherine. "All right. When can you bring him in?"

"I have a show to do this morning," she said. "I can have him there by one."

"That's fine. Thanks." Angellus nudged his partner and sipped his tea. "This stuff is pretty good."

"Please try not to handle him anymore than you have to," Abraham explained. "When you pick him up, use rubber gloves. Put him in a sealed plastic bag-"

"He'll suffocate!" she protested. "He's a living, breathing animal."

"Okay. Fine. This is a long shot anyway. It's probably already too late, even if anything was ever there." Abraham drank some of his tea and made a face. "People drink this stuff?"

"It's very soothing," she assured him. "I'll be as careful as I can with Tommy. But you might be right. I had our vet look at him last night. I don't know if you'll find anything useful."

"Great!" He glanced at the tea and got to his feet. "Bring him by and we'll take a look. He might be our only clue."

"Don't you mean witness? He told me there was another person there when Mrs. Jamison died. He saw everything that happened, even if he can't adequately describe it. He saw the killer leave when it was over. I hope we won't need police protection for him."

"Police protection?" Angellus finished his tea and got to his feet. "I'm not writing up the request for that."

"Don't ask," his partner grunted. "It's a turtle, for God's sake! The DA would laugh us out of his office."

"He knows what he saw," Mary Catherine said. "If you don't think the DA would like to hear it from a turtle and a pet psychic, you'd better get busy finding this other person yourselves."

"Thanks for your help." Abraham went to the door that led downstairs from her apartment. "We'll see you at one."

"I'll be there. Be careful of the loose stair. I'm trying to get my handyman to fix that."

"How desperate are we that we're talking to turtles and psychics?" she heard Abraham ask Angellus as they walked down the stairs together.

"Pretty desperate," Angellus replied. "I can already feel those county commissioner friends of Mrs. Jamison's breathing down my neck to arrest that nephew."

"Just asking," Abraham retorted. "I really didn't need an answer."

Mary Catherine slowly closed the door to her apartment. So they believed Colin was responsible, like Baylor. Interesting. She was sure they were all wrong.

First of all, Colin wasn't the kind of person who'd kill someone. "And second," she explained to Baylor as she dressed, "if he were going to kill someone, it wouldn't be with a broken bowl! Please! He might get blood on himself!"

Baylor rolled on his back and stuck his paws up in the air.

"Yes, his parent's death at sea would be more like him, if he were going to kill anyone, which I don't believe. Come on." She tugged on a lightweight marmaladecolored jacket over her pale lavender skirt and blouse. "We're already going to be late."